Eight in the Morning
by Lady Altair
Summary: The first fifteen minutes of a not-quite-ordinary morning in the Auror's Department for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. "Really, what were ex-girlfriends and ex-Slytherins with itchy wand hands when there were monster children and pregnant wives at home?"


**Title**: _Eight in the Morning  
_

**Author: **Lady Altair

**Summary:** The first fifteen minutes of a not-quite-ordinary morning in the Auror's Department for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley

**Rating: **PG-13

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_Eight in the Morning_

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Lavender managed to look stunning, even at eight in the morning, under the unforgiving bright lights of Harry's office, having been kept all night in a holding cell.

"How nice to see you, Harry," she said, perfectly at ease as she settled into the chair opposite him. "Your department's hospitality has been simply lovely, really. I apologize for my unfortunate state, but as I was so graciously relieved of my wand, there's not much to be done for it." She's the picture of courtesy in tone and composure, but there's anger, indignation beneath her sheen; the words themselves were laced in bitterness.

"It's not _my _department, Lavender. The DMLE dumped the case on us because of Parkinson…a bar brawl, Lavender?" he ventured, inwardly cringing.

It was obvious when he looked closer. All of her injuries had been taken care of, and the slightly rumpled state of her clothing hid the dirt and the tear on the sleeve. It's almost comical, to imagine the self-possessed lady across from him in an all-out tussle, but so the notes read. _Lavender Elaine Brown, taken into custody at The Silver Elm at 1:22 AM, on the 22__nd__ of February, 2004. Pansy Irene Parkinson, also in custody for the attempted use of an unknown and allegedly Dark curse, is charging Miss Brown with one count of non-magical assault. Miss Parkinson requests this case be treated as an animal attack and that Miss Brown be remanded to the jurisdiction of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures._

Lavender was quiet, and there was almost an aura of shame and embarrassment around her (if she was capable of such a sentiment.) Finally, she ventured quietly, "It was a full moon last night. I tend to get a bit cranky." She paused, steel melding back into her spine as she sat up straight. "She called me an animal, tried to hijack my date, and then implied some nasty stuff when he had the nerve to show some loyalty to his 'werewolf bitch'. I had someone's honor to defend. Cow deserved it, anyway."

"_That cow_ has put in a request you be dealt with by the DMC."

Those words changed the mood. Lavender's lips pulled back in a snarl, and Harry found himself wondering nervously if her canine teeth were always that sharp, if maybe Bill got off easy with his craving for extremely rare (Molly's polite euphemism for 'essentially raw') steaks. Her words were ground glass: "That's utterly ridiculous, Harry. I'm. Not. An. _Animal_."

He was quick to agree with her; there was an angry sheen to her eyes and he wasn't keen to find out exactly how deep those scars of hers went. "Everyone knows it's bollocks, Lavender—she tried to use some grey-area bit of nasty magic and is trying to shove the attention onto your—er, _you_. You're not an animal and _if, _somehow, this should be actually brought to trial, you'll be tried like any other witch who got into it in a bar. But that's a slim chance, Lavender, if anyone's getting put up for trial, it's Parkinson."

Her ire died down. "Okay," she conceded. "Is that all? Can I get my wand and go?"

Another cringe. "There's a twenty-four hour impound on confiscated wands." He interceded on her indignation, her mouth opened in protest, "I can't override it. I would if I could, but I _can't."_

"How am I supposed to get home? I'm in London, I live in Altrincham, and my fireplace is not on the Floo network! Shall I just hop a train, then?" The snarl was back, her eyes snapping amber."Because, you know, I have nothing better to do than get money changed out in Gringotts, make my way to Euston, then sit on a train for the next three hours in my clothes from last night, with no makeup and no wand." She barked a laugh. "The longest walk of shame ever recorded, and I didn't even get shagged last night thanks to fucking Parkinson! Because I've _nothing _better to do with my morning."

"Er…" What to say to that, Harry was (predictably) clueless. There were, of course, much simpler solutions than the rather convoluted journey Lavender had just described in her rant, but talking reason at this point in time seemed dangerous and very ill-advised.

He was saved by Ron, who wandered in without a knock, a disorderly pile of parchment and files clutched in his hands and another Weasley in tow. "Hey, Harry, Charlie says you're holding his girlfriend, and he'd appreciate her back, if that's…_Lavender_?" Ron cut himself off at the sight of her, mouth hanging open. "Wrong room?" he asked, somewhat strangled but with a definite air of desperate hope.

Lavender swiveled at the waist, looking back at the two Weasleys. "Damn it, Charlie, I told you to fuck off and wait for me at mine." There was a pleased note beneath her annoyed words. "And, er, _girlfriend?'_

"I must have missed that part while I was arguing with an Enforcer as they were escorting you out." Charlie, in a rumpled green shirt and looking suspiciously as though he'd been sleeping somewhere unsuited for such activity (like the notoriously awful chairs in the waiting room of the DMLE), grinned over his younger brother's shoulder. He sidestepped her last question, although his Weasley complexion tinged a noteworthy pink. "I've been waiting here all night."

"That's your date?" Harry asked weakly, his eyes on Ron, whose eyes were fixed, bugged, on his elder brother, in abject horror.

"Yes!" Lavender chirped, in a considerably less lupine mood, smiling over Ron at Charlie.

"What happened to that huge Geordie Quidditch player? The one you brought to the DA dinner in May?" Ron was reaching, desperate.

Lavender sighed, rising from her seat. "As though one appearance in public together is a troth plighting." With a lofty quirk of her manicured brow, she regarded her two former year mates and the rings on their fingers. "We don't all marry our Hogwarts darlings—glad you two did, though. Met this one at your wedding, Harry! Suppose I have an escort home, then."

Charlie edged Ron out of the way, his hand out to Lavender. Looking down at Harry, still seated behind his desk, he nodded. "We'll be back for her wand tomorrow morning."

Sweeping past Ron, Lavender grinned at Charlie, who was looking suitably intimidating and protective as his arm found its way around her waist. "You really waited here all night?" Lavender asked, a grin in her voice, as the two walked away. "And you ignored me before, but _girlfriend?"_

There was dead silence in the office as the door swung shut behind them.

"…she didn't fill out the paperwork. She wasn't supposed to go yet." Harry looked down at the substantial stack of parchment on his desk, rather at a loss.

"Ha, you run and tell her that, why don't you." He pulled the door open slightly and peeked around, swearing inventively and closing it as quietly as possible.

"I'm delegating her paperwork to you." There was a long pause, and Harry's eyes fell on the identical stack beside it. "But I'll do it if you deal with Parkinson."

"No deal," Ron said quickly, making to snatch the stack of parchment from Harry's desk. "I accept that delegation."

Harry's hand came down hard on the parchment, stalling Ron's attempt at a quick exit. "She tried to sell me out to Voldemort."

There was no sympathy to be found on Ron's face, only a hint of disappointment—_is that the best you've got?_ "I just had to witness my older brother picking up my ex-girlfriend to go off and do Merlin knows what." The comment brought Harry's memory to one of Lavender's earlier, off-hand comments as to what Pansy's theatrics had cost her that night and it was no longer quite _Merlin-knows-what_ as much as _Harry-knows-what-and-would-rather-he-didn't_.

"Enjoy that, Head-Auror-Harry," Ron saluted facetiously, adding Lavender's abandoned paperwork to his stack with an inappropriate cheeriness.

There was a knock on the door. Demelza Robins stood there, looking much put upon. "I swear to God, Harry, deal with Parkinson before I'm forced to deal with her myself in a less professional capacity and you're forced to file termination papers. She's been banging around in her holding cell and verbally abusing me since the DMLE dumped her and Lavender. I'm coming back in three minutes and she's coming with me. I may have to hogtie and drag her, so be prepared." She disappeared from the doorway, his weak assent following her out, though her face had lit slightly at her own final suggestion, and Harry could tell she was hoping Parkinson would pitch another fit and necessitate such drastic actions.

"That could be entertaining, I might just…" Ron began, turning out to follow Demelza.

"You might just get to your delegation," Harry put in quickly. "If anyone's going to be finding any entertainment value in this…well, I can guarantee you it's not going to be me, but it's not going to be you, either."

"Some days you wish you could call in sick, eh?" Ron mused. And then they both thought about it.

"How's Hermione holding up?" Harry asked suddenly. Ron grimaced.

"She says this one's the last. Rose is an absolute monster with her new, multiple-word phrasings of the word 'No!' and she's had a lot more morning sickness this time…Ginny?"

"James has been sneaking into Albus' room lately when Ginny puts him down for a nap—shakes the dickens out of the cot until Al wakes up screaming. Then he hides underneath like we don't know to look for him there. I don't even want to get into the accidental magic."

"Not too well, then."

"Earlier this week she told me, 'You know you have a bad child when you're sympathizing with those crazy women who drown their kids."

"So, er, paperwork!" Ron sounded almost enthusiastic.

"Parkinson," Harry added, with considerably more cheer than before.

Because, really, what were ex-girlfriends (even the ones dating relatives) and mildly unhinged ex-Slytherins with itchy wand hands when there were monster children and pregnant wives waiting at home?

* * *

I've been working on this for (literally) months. The end just wouldn't come together for some reason, but I think I'm rather pleased with how it wrapped up. This one is really unique for me--first time I think I've written anything involving Harry and Ron, it's not in the present tense (which was REALLY hard for me, I kept thoughtlessly switching back, so **if you find any inconsistencies with tense I missed, let me know!**) first time with no angst and, gasp, I filed this under 'humor.'

Also, I owe my mother a lot for this one. The 'shaking the cot and hiding underneath' thing was something my younger sister did to our brother when she was a toddler and it seemed appropriate for the new James Potter.


End file.
